Friday, April 21, 2017

Last Dance

I hear a voice.
Sitting on a bench,
Under the lonely tree
Trying to listen
the deafening echoes
of my mind.

I feel the whisper
caressing my sunburnt forehead.
With my roads going downhill
and my legs failing to rise,
I wait for the dark
clouds to clear away.

I sip the cold whiskey,
hoping to drain my memoirs.
Thinking about the cold sheets
and her warm legs. The reminiscence
of her betrayal cuts through
every cell in mine.

I search for her smile: a solace,
a beacon for my lost mind,
Her soft hair brushing my
lipstick stained cheek.
I look up the sky to
match my emptiness.

I think of a dream, where
her lips were pressed to mine;
My fingers traced her contours;
My face was buried in her valleys. 
I dream the moment when
we were naked under the Tuscan sun.

I lose my ground
drowning in an abyss of solitude.
I remember her eyes, which
once sparkled, but now shadowed.
An eclipse of debauchery
obscuring our lives.

I sensed my arms holding
her satin draped waist and
a cold machete. And, she
murmured ‘how about a last dance?’
With her breath in my bosom
I sang our epitaph!